An Inevitable Fate
by FluffyBlackKitten
Summary: After discovering that Lord Voldemort's soul is trapped in limbo for eternity and unable to be reborn, one of the 3 Fate sisters goes back in time to prevent his self destruction.


**Disclaimer: **Anything you recognize, I do not own. This disclaimer will apply to every chapter of this story.

**Inevitable Fate**

**::**

Prologue

_My name is Morta, one of the three sisters of Fate. Nona and Decima, also known as the Spinner and the Allotter, are my sisters. I am the Inevitable._

**November 27th, 2006**

**Godric's Hollow**

_It was dark outside, the curtains were drawn, and a fire was roaring in the fireplace. Two women huddled near the flames, whispering sharply to each other as they had been for most of the night._

"_Nona, please, you must reconsider!" the dark haired girl begged, slipping to her knees in front of the armchair where the elder woman was seated. _

"_Morta, sister, this isn't something I can change. It wasn't a conscious decision," Nona stated gently. "You know this." She reached her arms out, tugging her sister into her embrace. Morta rested her cheek on Nona's shoulder, her eyes filling with tears. _

"_I just don't understand why you think _love,_" she spat, "is such a gift. Why falling in love can make us die, why father cursed us this way. I will never fall in love!" she whispered harshly. _

_They were silent again for a time, until Morta continued in a broken voice, "Please don't leave me alone." _

"_Sister, love _is _a gift. I never understood it until I met Alastair. When he dies, I will be happy to move on with him. Don't discount love, nor underestimate it. You will be alone a very long time if you do."_

"_But he has weeks left to live at most…" _

"_I'm sorry, love." Nona said, in a gentle but firm tone. _

_Minutes passed, neither of them wanting to let go of the other. Finally Nona gently unfolded her arms and sat back. "Morta, I have something to tell you. Maybe I should have told you long ago, I don't know. But I think it will give you a purpose, after I'm gone." She felt Morta's arms tighten around her again, and she peered anxiously into her sister's eyes, searching for a sign that she understood. "Decima had a child, before she died. And he was a Fate like us. Mortal, but with our gifts."_

_This seemed to snap Morta out of her stupor, and she glanced up sharply. "What? What do you mean? We've all had children, many children. And none of them were like us. No, you must be mistaken-"_

"_I'm not mistaken," she interrupted. "Decima did have a son. But not through possessing a wizard or witch. She actually created a living, breathing human body for herself. It was one of her experiments. The body she created carried our gifts, and some of those gifts passed on to her son, and his son, on through the generations..."_

_Morta could only stare. "So you're saying…"_

"_Yes. There were more of us, more Fates. But Decima always worried about telling you, because of your aversion to anything mortal. She made me promise to keep quiet. I looked out for her descendants since she passed."_

"_Were?"_

"_Yes, unfortunately the last of Decima's line died out in 1998," said Nona._

_Morta sat up and moved to an adjoining chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I think I know what you are trying to say, who you're referring to," she said slowly._

_Nona nodded. "I thought you might. Where did you think mortal wizards learned to speak to snakes, a talent only immortals have ever possessed?"_

_Morta frowned in thought. "Who was her son? When?"_

"_Senzar Slytherin, father of Salazar Slytherin. Almost 1200 years ago now."_

_Morta's eyes widened. "That long, and I never suspected… I thought it was impossible for us to reproduce a true Fate. But they were mortal? What traits of ours did they possess?" Morta asked, a strange mix of eagerness and repulsion twisted onto her face. She hated anything that could die after all._

"_They were all slightly insane in the beginning, with fanatical personalities. Immortal blood doesn't mix well in a mortal species, it seems. But, as time passed and the blood diluted, her descendants demonstrated higher than average intelligence. There was also a tendency towards violence and murder, which might be considered similar to your gift. But all of them could speak to snakes, even those born without magic." _

"_Do you think any of them could have, well, you know- created, allotted, or taken life- as we do?" Morta questioned._

"_It's possible. They probably would have needed to learn it from an immortal, however," said Nona._

"_How fascinating…" Morta trailed off. "What about their souls? Have any been reborn?"_

"_Most have, yes. But they no longer possessed immortal traits after rebirth. That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually, something I need you to do. You see, when I searched for Lord Voldemort's soul to ensure it's rebirth I found it mutilated beyond repair, and trapped in limbo," Nona said, obviously troubled by her own words._

_Morta looked completely horrified. "How could that be? What should I do?"_

"_I was hoping you could go back and see what happened to his soul. To try to fix it, or prevent whatever happened to his soul from happening. Having your soul mutilated like that, to never have a chance of rebirth and trapped in limbo for eternity… it's a fate worse than death as I'm sure you can agree. I never would have wanted that for one of Decima's children, and I don't think you do either."_

_Morta could only nod. She wouldn't want that for even the most irritating mortal. _

_They were lost in their thoughts again for a while, until Morta blurted out, "I want to create a body like Decima did. I don't want to live someone else's life, possessing some witch or wizard. Tell me how Decima did it."_

_Nona raised both her brows. "It's actually quite easy, using a simple ritual and potion…"_

**December 6th, 2006**

**Godric's Hollow**

_Morta's eyes were red and swollen, nearly sealed shut from long hours of tears, her dark hair lank from lack of care. Muttering to herself, she shuffled back and forth between a large pewter cauldron and a table riddled with various ingredients. _

"_Bone of a mother, to birth a new beginning."_

_Tossing the bone into the cauldron, Morta stirred the potion counter clockwise until the steam was almost too hot to touch. _

"_Blood of a long life, to ensure health of body and soul."_

_Morta tipped a vial of the dark red liquid into the potion and waited till it turned a metallic silver. _

"_The thread of an inevitable fate."_

_Turning to the ingredient filled table Morta found the golden thread, cut cleanly in half, that had been the thread of her sister's life. Tears filled her eyes again, and she couldn't help them spilling over and running tracks down her cheeks. She carefully plucked the thread from the table and carried it to the cauldron, before gently lowering it into the bubbling liquid. On a whim, she allowed some of her tears fall into the cauldron as well, wishing in her heart that she hadn't been left alone in her immortality. _

_The cauldron continued to boil and steam fiercely until it finally overflowed, the potion extinguishing the fire below. Unusually nervous, Morta cautiously advanced on the cauldron and peered inside. _

_There, in the cauldron, was the body of a girl of about 15. She had unruly black hair and pale grey eyes. She was also rather short and petite. Morta let out a rather hysterical giggle at the thought that this body nearly resembled a female Harry Potter, the vanquisher of Lord Voldemort. And here she was, going back to save him! Oh well, she mused, most pure-blooded families looked similar to each other anyways._

"_Here goes nothing," she mumbled to herself before dumping the body of the witch she was possessing and taking over the girl. She took a moment to adjust to the feel of being a 15 year old girl before striding over to mirror. Eyeing herself critically, she decided the bone and blood mixture had done well enough and she had turned out rather pretty. _

_Twirling her wand, she robed herself quickly and started clearing the evidence the ritual. Her mind again turned to her two sisters, this time recalling some of her happier lives. Scanning through her memories for ideas, she recalled the last time they were all together as a family as the three Peverell brothers. Chuckling lightly at the memory of the fame and fortune they had gathered for themselves, she decided that Peverell could be her alias. She had the knowledge of the family history already, and she could claim a pure-blood line without risking any other Peverell's showing up and blowing her cover. A quick blood and naming ritual, and she'd be the Peverell Heir with access to their vaults and the prestige of the name._

_She smirked. "Perfect."_

Chapter 1

**June 31st, 1942**

**Wool's Orphanage, London**

"Mrs. Cole, there's a girl here to see you." She glanced up from her papers to peer at Elizabeth over the bridge of her spectacles. Elizabeth was rather plain, one of the older orphans who would soon be turning 18. Mrs. Cole briefly wondered what would become of her.

"I'll be right there," she said shortly.

"Yes Mrs. Cole," Elizabeth said, and strode out.

The matron sighed before setting her spectacles down on the desk, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. Scattered over her desk were copies of letters she had written to various agencies requesting assistance with funding the orphanage, and even more plentiful were the replies. All rejections, of course. This war was really taking it's toll on the country, and closer to home, the orphanage. More orphans were pouring in, many of whom had to be turned away. Not only that, but government funding was at an all time low, forcing the children to share rooms and suffer smaller portions at meals.

No doubt the girl Elizabeth mentioned was another war orphan looking for food and shelter. She sighed again.

Mrs. Cole plucked her spectacles from the desk and replaced them on her nose before standing and smoothing her skirts. Better get this over with.

* * *

As Mrs. Cole left her office and approached the entryway, she took in the surprisingly well dressed figure waiting by the door. The girl wore an obviously high quality blouse and skirt set, paired with leather ankle boots that were currently in fashion. She looked to be about 16, but held herself with confidence that spoke of maturity.

"Good afternoon, you must be Mrs. Cole," she held out a hand in introduction. "My name is Hypatia Peverell, I'm here looking for someone-" Hypatia's words abruptly cut off as she focused on something over Mrs. Cole's shoulder. Mrs. Cole turned to peer behind her, curious as to what had caught the girl's attention. All she saw was one of the boys, Tom Riddle, stepping out of the common area and heading upstairs. As soon as he was out of sight Hypatia's words continued as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "- I'm here for a place at your orphanage. My father recently passed you see, and I have no other family."

The girl was waiting expectantly for Mrs. Cole's response, peering unblinkingly into her eyes. Mrs. Cole shifted uncomfortably. "I'm afraid the orphanage is quite full at the moment Miss Peverell, there's room up north in Bradford-"

Hypatia interrupted her quite smoothly, somehow remaining polite. "Mrs. Cole, I received your name from Mr. Vern Barker at the police station and heard a little of your situation here. My family was quite wealthy and I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. I need to stay in London for personal reasons, and your orphanage needs funding. Perhaps we can speak in your office?" Mrs. Cole nodded numbly, thoroughly astounded by the quick turn of events, and turned to lead the way. Maybe there was hope for the children here after all.

"Mrs. Cole, I truly appreciate your assistance and I look forward to helping you further the health and happiness of the children here," said Hypatia. She was sure she was laying it on a bit thick with Mrs. Cole, but her goal required that she and the woman got along well.

"Of course, dear," she directed at Hypatia. "Martha, could you please escort Miss Peverell to her room? She'll have the room on the second floor at the end of the hall, number 14. Have Amy move her things in with one of the other girls, she'll be sharing from now on." Martha raised her brows, and Hypatia struggled to repress a smirk. Instead she smiled as politely as she could before following Martha up the stairs. Like she would share her living space with a _mortal._ In fact, it was included in the contract requirements of her exceedingly generous donation that she have a private room.

When they arrived at number 14, she watched amusedly as Amy, one of the girls she had seen in Mrs. Cole's mind, was unceremoniously forced to pack up her meager possessions in a ratty old suitcase and told by Martha to find space with one of the other girls. Hypatia forced herself to smile kindly at Amy as she left the room, and murmured a quiet apology to the girl for usurping her from the private room. She didn't want to make unnecessary enemies, after all. It probably wouldn't matter in the long run, but any advantage she could get was one she wanted.

"Hypatia, dear," said Martha once Amy was out of sight, "dinner starts at 5:30 each evening, and breakfast is at 8:00. Lunch is anywhere from 11:30 till 1:00, though the earlier you get there the better the food will be. I'll leave you now to get settled." Martha quickly turned and strode out of the room.

With Martha gone, Hypatia was left to unshrink her bags and stow her belongings in the one dresser provided, adding a subtle space expansion charm to the inside of the drawers. What _was_ she doing here? What _compelled_ her to follow her sisters advice? Now that she was back in the 40's she was regretting her decision. She had forgotten how thoroughly ghastly this decade was. Signs of war everywhere, and atrocious fashion. Just look at the hairstyles! And besides, never in a million years would she have imagined she'd travel back in time to change a mortal's Fate. _Though he isn't all mortal, is he?_ A voice in her mind whispered, sounding suspiciously like Nona.

She scowled at the realization that she would not only be spending the rest of eternity alone amongst mortals, but that she would be spending at least this summer and next summer with _Muggles._ "Disgusting…" she muttered rather angrily, tossing some of her shoes under the bed with a little more force than was strictly necessary. One of her loafers actually ricocheted and bounced out the other side, but she ignored it.

Pushing this train of thought aside for the time being, Hypatia checked her watch, and read 3:36. _Should be enough time to compose a letter to the Headmaster at Hogwarts. _Quickly pointing her wand at the desk and muttering a _scourgify_, Hypatia pulled out some parchment and a quill from her bag and sat down to compose her letter.

* * *

Precisely 2 hours later Hypatia stowed her completed letters and belongings in her bag, added some locking charms, and headed to dinner. Following a group of the younger children to the cafeteria, she listened disinterestedly to their gossip concerning one of the older girls getting caught with a local boy in her room. Apparently in the 40's that sort of thing was considered quite the scandal.

The cafeteria itself was a disappointment. The walls, ceiling, and floor were all painted a grubby white. Six long tables with benches were packed into the room, and children of all ages were lined up at the far end waiting to be served. Hypatia picked up a tray and got in line behind the others, copying the boy in front of her. While waiting, she quickly glanced around the hall, hoping to spot the future Lord Voldemort.

_There!_ He was seated alone not far from where she was standing.

"Next!" a gruff voice called, and she was startled forward, holding out her tray to an old man that looked to be at least 70 years old. He plopped cold carrots, potatoes, and one boiled egg onto her egg tray before gesturing for her to hurry up. It didn't look like nearly enough food for growing children.

Scowling darkly at the old man, the food, and well- everything really, Hypatia moved towards the table where she saw Tom Riddle sitting. She took a seat across from him and instead of introducing herself she took the time to study him.

In 2006, there had only been 2 known photographs of the young Tom Riddle. One was from the Daily Prophet when he won an award for Special Services to the School and another class photo at his graduation in 1945. Truly, neither photo did Riddle any sort of justice. He had one of those classically handsome faces, with high cheek bones, dark eyes, and slightly curly black hair parted to one side. And even seated she could tell he was quite tall.

"Can I help you?" a deep, crisp voice asked. Hypatia started, and her eyes shot up from where she had been perusing his ill-fitting, threadbare attire that seemed to be 'the trend' here at the orphanage. It was obvious he'd caught her staring.

"Umm, hi. My name is Hypatia Peverell. I'm new here." She held out her hand, but he ignored it.

"Tom Riddle," he said shortly, and went back to his dinner. _Well, that's awkward, _she thought, putting her hand down. A few minutes passed, Hypatia nibbling on her carrots and continuing to study Riddle from the corner of her eye. _He must not recognize the Peverell name. How interesting. _This amused her greatly for some reason, though she probably shouldn't have been surprised. He was raised by Muggles after all.

Soon enough he got up and left without saying anything else, leaving Hypatia alone. She realized that most of the other tables were full, meaning everyone had deliberately avoided sitting with them. After her encounter with Riddle's stunning personality she couldn't really blame them, although she had to admit she didn't like treating Muggles well either. Which he thought she was.

Standing up and returning her tray, Hypatia headed out of the cafeteria and up the stairs towards her room. Halfway up the stairs a voice called out to her from behind.

"Hey new girl!" She turned to a pockmarked boy around her age, with brown hair and eyes.

"Yes?" she called back as he ran up the stairs to meet her.

"Names Eric. Listen, you can't hang around Riddle," he whispered urgently to her. "We all saw you sitting with him at dinner tonight, but he's no good. Likes to hurt people. He's done that to Amy and Dennis few years ago and they ain't been right in the head since."

Taking this opportunity to sift through Eric's thoughts, she realized he was being sincere in trying to 'protect' her. His motivation may have been her pretty face, but it was a nice gesture all the same, she supposed. Giving a minute grimace at a Muggle developing a crush, she quickly perused his other memories, those focusing on Riddle. She discovered that Riddle did actually enjoy tormenting the other children at the orphanage, doing things like laugh when they fell down the stairs and sending snakes into their beds.

Withdrawing from his mind, she focused on the 'conversation' they were having. "Thank you for your warning Eric. I'll take it to heart." She forced out a kind smile and continued walking.

"You can eat with me tomorrow!" he called out from behind her. She turned and gave a curt nod, before speeding up. She _really_ didn't want to talk to this boy more than she had to.

_Riddle hates me, and Muggles are crushing on me. Jeez, just what did I get myself into here._

_TBC_

**_A/N:_**So, this is my first story/ writing attempt. I have the story basically outlined, so I know where I want to go with it, but I'd love to hear the readers thoughts and opinions. I also didn't have anyone to edit, so if you notice any grammar or spelling errors be sure to point them out and I'll correct it. Review please! :)


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